24 7 09

speaking white in my ear,

my kodak

is an amalgam of

shredded dust, paper

bunnied into clumps of

time

scratching grey in my hand,

digging the shutters

for memories: that

walk in the park

in ‘09, the rusted carousel

whirling

spinning yellow in my eyes,

flecks of brown iron oxide

flying with the larks

singing in a park

on

24 7 09.